Lottery ticket
Christmas is often a day of magic and wonder. Nothing is like watching it through the eyes of a child. My grandson is with his Dad today visiting relatives out of state. Although I will miss watching his face as presents are opened, I hope that he is brightening the life of his great-grandmother. They went to see her this year. The family has been told that her cancer is terminal and she doesn't have much time. Time is a precious gift. When it is gone, we get no more. We can only hope that we have wisely spent what ever we have been alotted.
My oldest daughter wrote me this morning. I wish she was home for the holidays, but I understand the circumstances. I know this separation routine all too well, I should after almost twenty years of it. I just want her and everyone out there with her home and safe. Sure.. I know, patriotic duty, but show me a mother that doesn't want her children home for Christmas and I'll show you a mother that isn't fond of her kids.
My younger daughter bought her first lottery ticket yesterday. She's thrilled, but perhaps what she got the biggest kick out of was when the gal behind the counter carded her and said she looked about 14. Eighteen years ago on Christmas Eve, Santa dropped off this tiny bundle at Fort Carson Hospital. He's brought nothing since that has compared to 6 lbs. 9 oz. Elizabeth Ann. My helion.. the child that didn't fear anything even when she should have. The little mite that was knocked off a swing by a bully at age two and decided she was not taking any of that. Did she cry to Dad who was ready to come to her rescue? No.... My daughter went and found a tree branch and smacked the boy right off that swing. The big sister that found an older boy beating on her brother after school and whipped the tar out of him. Of course we got the, "Only I get to beat on my brother" story. As things come full circle, my child is now a legal adult.
My son managed to do as he has for the last several years, find his presents and open them before the holiday. I don't think he gets it... he's only ruining things on himself. No surprises.
My oldest daughter wrote me this morning. I wish she was home for the holidays, but I understand the circumstances. I know this separation routine all too well, I should after almost twenty years of it. I just want her and everyone out there with her home and safe. Sure.. I know, patriotic duty, but show me a mother that doesn't want her children home for Christmas and I'll show you a mother that isn't fond of her kids.
My younger daughter bought her first lottery ticket yesterday. She's thrilled, but perhaps what she got the biggest kick out of was when the gal behind the counter carded her and said she looked about 14. Eighteen years ago on Christmas Eve, Santa dropped off this tiny bundle at Fort Carson Hospital. He's brought nothing since that has compared to 6 lbs. 9 oz. Elizabeth Ann. My helion.. the child that didn't fear anything even when she should have. The little mite that was knocked off a swing by a bully at age two and decided she was not taking any of that. Did she cry to Dad who was ready to come to her rescue? No.... My daughter went and found a tree branch and smacked the boy right off that swing. The big sister that found an older boy beating on her brother after school and whipped the tar out of him. Of course we got the, "Only I get to beat on my brother" story. As things come full circle, my child is now a legal adult.
My son managed to do as he has for the last several years, find his presents and open them before the holiday. I don't think he gets it... he's only ruining things on himself. No surprises.